Out of Luck
by gracedUSA
Summary: When a forgery investigation strands Neal, Peter and a prized asset in the woods it takes a little creativity and a lot of luck to get them out of it. I don't own White Collar!
1. Chapter 1

**More OC + Peter + Neal H/C. Enjoy! And keep reviewing! Still don't own White Collar.**

Peter and Neal knew their way around New York City. They didn't know their way around the heavily wooded Allegheny valley where they'd finally managed to ditch their psychotic captors. Clara, a new asset they were working with, was badly hurt. She'd taken a knife under her shoulder blade in their escape. And a hard fall on the rocky terrain had given Neal some bruised ribs and a nasty cut along his side. Peter had, thus far, escaped unscathed. Clara and Neal were, thus far, still conscious and on their feet. But Peter knew he couldn't count on that to last.

When Peter was satisfied they were far enough away to be out of imminent danger he insisted they stop. He knew Neal and Clara were running on adrenaline. He knew they needed to stop. He needed to stop and he was uninjured. He tried not to imagine how hard the trek must have been on his young companions.

Clara was coping surprisingly well. She was a corporate lawyer from an aggressive firm well known for its off the wall tactics and refusal to give up a case – no matter how desperate it seemed. She'd been helping them investigate the forging ring they were taking down – and posing as their attorney when Neal and Peter decided to go in under cover. Though she'd likely never suffered more than a sprained ankle or broken wrist before, she was oddly, unswervingly calm through the trauma of her injury.

She didn't complain or protest as Peter helped her sit down on the forest floor. And suddenly, he realized why.

"Neal," Peter's voice had an unmistakable edge.

"What's wrong," Neal asked, struggling to his feet and coming over to them.

"She's going into shock," Peter whispered, "I need to get this knife out. You need to keep her with me."

"Recommendations? Ideas?" Neal prompted.

"I don't know make small talk, ask her how she's feeling, kiss her for all I care just keep her from going unconscious," Peter replied.

"Clara," Neal said, his demeanor changing in an instant, going from terrified, desperate CI to suave, prepared con artist in the blink of an eye.

She registered his words, shuddering as she also re-engaged with her own pain. Her gray eyes gazed up at him with confusion, fear, pain, and something close to admiration.

"Hey this is gonna hurt," he murmured, stroking her cheek with a bloodstained hand, "But I need you to stay with me. Alright?"

"What happened?" she asked, rubbing her temples, then wincing at the movement.

"You took a knife under one shoulder," Peter answered, trying to get a hold on the slippery, bloody hilt, "I need to get it out and get the bleeding under control."  
"Right…right…okay," Clara murmured.

"You okay? You still with me?" Neal prompted, coaxing her chin up and putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, it's just…I thought this was the white collar division?" Clara replied, her voice gaining a bit of an irate edge even through the shock and the fear and the pain.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter did his best to get a firm grip on the knife's smooth handle, now a terribly treacherous mixture of slick and sticky from a bothersome combination of dried and fresh blood.

Trying to ignore Clara's agonized response Peter eased the blade free. Then Peter felt his breath catch in his throat when he realized that part of the blade had shattered – when he realized at some point he'd have to get the fragments out of Clara's back – when he realized they were all terribly out of their league and it might just cost his asset her life.

Neal's voice roused Peter from his panic induced stupor.

"She's unconscious Peter," Neal said, "Peter!"  
"What?!"  
"She's unconscious. I tried but…I think the blood freaked her out," Neal replied, holding Clara's limp head in one palm and spreading the other hand in a gesture of confusion and surrender.

"Right."

"Now what?" Neal asked.

"We keep moving," Peter replied.

"While she's unconscious?"

"Yep."

"Got a plan?" Neal countered, none to gently. Peter could see the impatience and the pain in his young CI's face.

"She's unconscious," Peter said, "which means I have to carry her. I can give you a shoulder to lean on but…"

"A ricochet wound can't take priority over a stabbing. I get it."

"Then let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the next installment - homework has slightly taken over my life - but keep watching for more!**

 **Reviews always appreciated!**

 **Also if you want something happy/fluffy since this is getting dark - try checking out my Burn Notice fic "Floppy"**

It was a miracle. A gift from heaven. It was a cabin. One room, unheated, no plumbing. But it was a roof and four walls and, the biggest gift, a first aid kit. Neal was barely holding onto consciousness and Clara felt like a rag doll in Peter's arms.

There was a cot in the far corner.

"Go lay down," Peter told Neal, following close behind him and nestling Clara against Neal's side once he was settled.

"Don't you need to do more Boy Scout survival guide medicine on us?" Neal asked blearily.

"Yeah but I think you need an hour of sleep first. I'm gonna go get some water and boil it so we have something sterile – then check out the first aid kit. If you feel her fever spike or if you think she stopped breathing yell for me," Peter instructed.

Neal nodded – looking oddly young and vulnerable in his injured state. He had an arm around Clara – but there was nothing romantic in the embrace – instead it seemed almost brotherly – like he wanted to protect her from the chaos – like he wanted to get her out of the crossfire.

Peter dug through the first aid kit to see if he had what he needed to remove the bullet from Neal's leg and debride the wound in Clara's back. He did. But there was no antiseptic and no anesthetic. That didn't bode well for his charges.


	4. Chapter 4

**I know these chapters are super short! Homework continues to take over my life. But soon I promise there will be more longford story!**

 **Reviews appreciated!**

Peter dug through the first aid kit to see if he had what he needed to remove the bullet from Neal's leg and debride the wound in Clara's back. He did. But there was no antiseptic and no anesthetic. That didn't bode well for his charges.

He decided to start with getting the bullet out of Neal's leg. The longer it stayed in the higher the likelihood Neal would develop lead poisoning. Peter pulled out tweezers and a scalpel, glancing back at Neal and Clara as they slept. He didn't want to do this. But he knew both of their lives depended on his action.

Sitting down next to his CI and his asset on the hard, narrow cot Peter shook Neal awake as gently as he could. The younger man winced, pulling away from the movement.

"I've got to get the bullet out of your leg," Peter said, "can you get out from next to Clara without waking her?"

"I think you could stab Clara again and she wouldn't wake up," Neal replied, "she's breathing – but she's out cold."

Peter nodded, trying not to think too hard about what risks Clara was enduring while he focused on Neal.

Removing a bullet wasn't fun, but Peter had enough experience to do it relatively quickly and as painlessly as was feasible.

But in spite of his best efforts Neal let out a stifled scream when Peter made the final incision and, contrary to Neal's instincts, the noise was enough to rouse Clara from her pain-induced slumber.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled, somehow managing to get herself sitting upright. She buried her head in her hands, her frame trembling on every exhale.

"I'm just getting this round out of Neal's leg. I'm gonna finish taking care of the wound in your back in just a minute," Peter said calmly, trying his best to hide the panic that was starting to overwhelm all his FBI training.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Clara asked as Neal stifled another cry.

"He'll be fine," Peter insisted, finally getting the bullet free and quickly clamping a square of gauze over the wound with his palm.

"Promise?" Clara asked, looking oddly young and vulnerable, looking nothing like the spitfire corporate lawyer they'd brought on as an asset less than a month before.

"Promise."


	5. Chapter 5

Neal was stable but there was not reliable way to keep the wound in his leg from getting infected. Peter found an old bottle of rye in an abandoned cupboard and settled on using that as an antiseptic if things started to look worrying. But before he could think about the long term consequences of Neal's injury he had to face up to the short term problems posed by Clara's.

He had to debride the wound, there was no other option. But first he hoped he'd be able to get the larger fragments out with tweezers.

He knew Neal's smaller, defter hands were better suited to the task, he just wasn't sure if he could ask that of him. Neal sat with a fraternal arm around Clara's shoulder. She dozed with her head on his chest.

Peter took a deep breath and made his request.

"Neal I need you to do something for me, for Clara," Peter said.

"Anything. Why do you look so uncertain?" Neal replied.

"I need you to take these," Peter handed over the tweezers, "and find the fragments of blade in her back. I wouldn't ask this of you..but Neal your younger and your well…hobbies…keep your hands a lot more capable than mine when it comes to things like this," Peter said.

"Tell me what to do and I'd be…well not happy to…but you get the idea," Neal replied, easing Clara onto the cot, face down, and pulling back the makeshift bandage to reveal the bloody mess on her back.

"Slow and steady," Peter said. He put a hand firmly on Clara's opposite shoulder and one on her hip.

"This is gonna hurt her isn't it?" Neal asked.

Peter just swallowed hard and nodded.

Somehow – by some miracle – Neal managed to get the bigger blade fragments out of Clara's back without hurting her much more. Yes she'd screamed and when Neal was done she was white like a sheet, tears pouring down her face. Neal's own hands were shaking and his face was almost as white as Clara's. Between his own injury and the trauma he'd caused he was hitting an emotional and physical breaking point.

Peter didn't want to say anything – but Clara's wound was only half cleaned. He still had to set a saline dressing and then debride it in a few hours. It wouldn't be pleasant. But it would save her. Having fragments of dirt and rusty blade in your back was bad – no matter how you looked at it. Bad enough to risk her going into shock from the pain.

"Alright," Peter said, trying to stay calm himself, "this part's not gonna hurt right now. I'll have to switch the bandage tomorrow and that won't be the most fun thing in the world but…"

"It's okay," Clara said, "do whatever you need to. I trust you Agent Burke."

And with that she closed her eyes, jaw set entire body tense with pain.

Once Peter finished getting the saline dressing in place he made both his charges go back to sleep. He tried to catch a few moments himself but the stress kept him up. So he just sat and watched, the steady pattern of Neal's breathing, Clara's more labored but mirroring his enough to be safe – both of their pain-blanched complexions gaining a tiny speck more color from what was likely a fever setting in – Neal's arm resting protectively against the small of Clara's back. That bit still fascinated Peter. He'd never known Neal to meet a woman he didn't flirt with – but something about Clara was different.


	6. Chapter 6

When Neal woke, before they roused Clara to finish cleaning her injury, Peter asked him about this uncharacteristic relationship.

"I knew her when she was at law school," Neal replied with a shrug, "I tried to con her and she caught on. I have a lot of respect for her and she has a lot of respect for me. We're friends. Now we're colleagues. She's not a mark and I'm not in love with her."

"She caught on?" Peter asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yep."

"Can you elaborate?"

"Nope…let's wake her up and get this done with."

"Alright…but I want to hear this one day."

"You get me and her out of here in tact I'll tell you whatever you want," Neal replied.

Peter woke Clara and gave her the standard pre-debridement explanation – it's gonna hurt a lot but we don't want you to die of infection – if not in so many words.

"Agent Burke…Peter…I trust you. Just do it," Clara replied, gripping Neal's hand and putting a folded section of blanket between her teeth to keep her from screaming.

Not that it worked particularly well. Mechanical debridement is a brutal thing. And she tolerated well. But it's never fun. Clara was unconscious from the pain at the end, and Neal looked like he might follow from the shock.

"She's gonna be okay," Peter said, "you both are."

"Promise?"

"Promise."


	7. Chapter 7

The sharp report of an automatic weapon roused Peter from his fitful slumber. He jumped to his feet, reaching for his own gun and realizing it wasn't there. He checked out each of the cabin's tiny, heavily curtained windows and saw a selection of hit men from the drug ring they'd been investigating standing around the front. Which mean they needed to get out. Now.

He shook Neal and Clara awake, shushing their initial protests.

"Our friends caught up with us – we need to go out the back window," Peter said quickly.

His declaration was met with confusion and a little fear.

"There's not another option – it's get out of here now or die in a hail of bullets," he added.

Clara shrugged, then winced when it pulled at the unhealed wound in her back.

She stumbled off the cot, her head swimming from the blood loss and infection. After a few moments her balance steadied and she found she could keep her feet with only a hand on Peter's shoulder. Though the injury itself was not as severe, Neal's leg injury made it hard for him to walk.

Peter tried not to think how hard it would be for them to get away cleanly.

Clara proved surprisingly nimble. Climbing through the window was easier for her smaller frame. It was hard enough for Peter. It took both Peter and Clara's help to ease Neal through the cramped space with his injured leg.

Nobody passed out in the first mile – though it was clear that neither Clara nor Neal would last long without a lot of painkillers and a lot of antibiotics. She was starting to loose coherence within a half hour. Neal was shivering so hard Peter was stunned the younger man could still find a way to walk.

It was a solid three hours before they found the road. By then Peter had Neal slung over his shoulder and Clara holding his hand, her breath ragged and her eyes unseeing, following his touch as her fevered mind chased dreams.

It was another hour before the car came - a plain, unmarked Ford truck. Bearing their salvation. A park ranger and two FBI agents – who promptly called 911.

Three weeks later Clara was sitting in Peter's office, arm in a sling, but otherwise as polished as ever.

"Thank you for your service," Peter said.

"You're welcome Agent Burke," Clara replied.

"I just want you to know – that wasn't the usual turn of events for a White Collar operation," Peter told her.

"I just want you to know that if you ever contact me again I'm fleeing the country just in case."


End file.
